


Case 58: The Adventure Of The Tempests (1887)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [75]
Category: Cinderella - All Media Types, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bribery, Dancing, Destiel - Freeform, Disguise, Documentation, F/M, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, London, Love, M/M, Organized Crime, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Be careful what you wish for – a nobleman is smitten with an unusual dancing servant, but gets rather more than he expected when Sherlock finds his quarry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaid_diah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaid_diah/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

Watson tends to idolize me in a way that is both endearing and worrying as I am far from perfect (though he had better not be rolling his eyes at that!), and never writes of any case that he regards as a failure. The Nation might come to think of me as some sort of guardian angel, which given the real character of those creatures that few read up on in the Bible might be truer than they realize.

It was the week after Watson's time with his annoying alien from Man and I was hoping for things to get back to normal. He knew of course that something was wrong with me but my vague hints that it was family (which nine times out of ten it usually was!) kept him from asking any difficult questions. What I needed was a small, simple case that was easily resolved and would help me to regain my confidence and stop thinking about... things that did not need thinking about.

For once I got my wish.

֍

The Bloomsbury Surgery had one or two patients who were, in the words of Watson, 'characters' (i.e. the sort of 'characters' that one fervently hoped might suddenly see the joys of emigration or even the next world). Undoubtedly the worst by a long way was Mrs. Alexandrina Pellous-Mallett, an elderly female ( _not_ a lady!) who had buried three husbands all of whom were most certainly glad to be leaving her behind as they headed to their well-merited rests. Unhappily for poor Watson she had decided that she preferred him to treat her (or in her words, he was 'the least stupid idiot there'), and the secretary Miss Peabody always arranged these appointments just before lunch so he could them go home and spend the rest of the afternoon trying to stop shaking. 

He was on his third whisky (and still shaking) when the visitor's bell rang.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

“People rarely call at this time of day”, I said. “Although it may be nobility, who expect a twenty-four hour service because they are nobility.”

He shook his head at my cynicism but once again I was right. Moments later Betty brought up a card with 'Mercher†, Lord Brecknock‡ on it. I hoped that the poor girl was recovered; I had mentioned to Mrs. Harvelle that when she had brought our food in the other week while I had been playing the violin she had had cotton wool in her ears, and the landlady had said this was some sort of treatment from her doctor. Not Watson, and I had had no idea why he had glared at her so at the time. She could not help missing out on my music.

Lord Mercher was a tall and handsome gentleman in his mid-thirties, known in society as 'the American'. Actually only his grandfather had been from that young nation, both his parents having been Welsh, but he had spent some time at university over there and had acquired some of that young nation's mannerisms though thankfully not the one that raised his speaking volume by a factor of three. He had been a rower when younger and was now an excellent shooter. He was also (and this would prove important) estranged from his father Viscount Owen, who had had five sons with his wife and was exceptionally proud (with little reason I might add) of the other four whom were all older than Lord Mercher. The estrangement had been deepened by the fact that the nobleman's American grandfather had bequeathed a large estate solely to him rather than to any of his older brothers, something that his father and brothers had subsequently contested in court and lost. Very expensively lost.

I had little regard for the nobility in general but Lord Mercher started well enough by not doing as so many did and objecting to Watson's presence.

“I doubt that you will find anything to write up in this sorry matter, doctor”, he said, his American accent quite notable. “Unless it is that rare thing, a case that your friend cannot solve.”

“I am to take it that this case will require a large degree of discretion?” I asked. He nodded.

“And a larger degree of talent!” he said. “I am looking for someone who apparently does not exist!”

We both looked at him in amazement.

“Why _are_ you looking for them, then?” Watson asked reasonably.

“You will probably not believe me when I tell you the sequence of events”, the nobleman sighed. “I was there and even _I_ have trouble believing it!”

He took a sip from the whisky that Watson had poured him and begun.

“On Saturday I had to attend a ball at Horatia, Lady Tempest's place”, he said. “I suppose that strictly speaking I did not _have_ to attend but for all her failings she – or rather her husband - does do some good works and it was raising money for a hospital near where I live on the outskirts of London so I went along. It was as bad as I had feared and made infinitely worse by the fact that her daughters were there.”

I winced. I myself had seen the Misses Griselda and Esmeralda Tempest at a social event one time, and I had not though it possible for so much make-up to be trowelled onto one human face, let alone two. And each female's voice had been like a nail on a blackboard! Plus the way that both had simpered at me – I would sooner have gone home with Winston, Lady Tempest's bulldog, who was infinitely better looking for one thing!

“I see from your face that you too have had the displeasure”, Lord Mercher smiled. “I have never really had any wish to marry, settle down and raise a family, but the thought of living with either of those two for any length of time – I would be taking my gun and ending it as soon as possible! Or more likely ending them!”

I smiled at his frankness.

“The ball proceeded and after some time I had to use the facilities”, he said. “Returning, I saw both women looking for someone and I very much feared that it was me. I decided to back away and hide out; as you probably know Tempest Place is huge so it was easy enough. I suppose it may have been a bit rude towards Lady Tempest but then she had set her daughters on me!”

“The whole nightmare was going on on the ground floor so I slipped up the back stairway, thinking I would be safe on the first floor. I eventually found myself more or less above the main dancing-area; I could hear the music quite clearly. There was a library and I thought I might read there for a bit – but there was someone already there, dancing.”

“Another refugee from the Terrible Twins?” Watson suggested. I shook my head at him but smiled.

“Definitely not one of the guests by her clothing”, our visitor said. “It was hard to make her out; the only light was what came through the floorboards as all the curtains were closed. But the way she moved – it was almost as if she had wings!”

“You did not see her face?” I asked. He suddenly looked much more serious.

“Right at the end”, he said. “The library was L-shaped and there was a window around the corner where the curtains had not been drawn. The moonlight came in and lit her face up and.... she was _beautiful!_ I had all of two seconds to take her in before my cursed luck caught up with me and the floorboard I was standing on creaked. It sounded like a gunshot in the room despite the noise of the band from below; she turned and fled.”

“You did not go after her?” I asked.

“Of course I did!” he said firmly. “At speed. But the door that she went through opened onto a corridor and there was no trace of her, left or right. I tried all the doors she could have gone through but no luck. I did go back to the library and wait but she did not return, and eventually I managed to seek our Lady Tempest and make my escape.”

“Without attracting the attentions of the Terrible Twins?” Watson grinned (he really was terrible at times like these).

“Poor Henry Fellowes - Lord Bathurst's son - was dealing with them both”, Lord Brecknock smiled. “I shall have to stand him a drink the next time I see him; he has definitely earned one for saving my ear-drums. Is there anything that you can do, do you think?”

I thought for a moment.

“Obviously you cannot approach Lady Tempest for several reasons”, I said.

“I can name two!” someone chipped in unhelpfully. I glared at him, however true his words were.

 _“Apart_ from those”, I said frostily, “if we are to assume that it was an outsider you saw – and that seems unlikely – then she would hardly give you a guest list and tell you to have at it. And if it was what I think it was, a servant, then your inquiring after them might make Her Ladyship seek them out and dismiss them for the heinous crime of denying her offspring the chance of matrimony.”

I caught Watson about to make another sarcastic comment and shook my head at him. He pouted his displeasure. He really was cute when he did that.

“So nothing can be done”, our visitor sighed.

“I did not say that”, I said. “I am sure that I can obtain the guest-list through other means, although as I said I do not think we will find your mystery dancer there. It will probably be easier to obtain a full list of Lady Tempest's servants and narrow it down to the few who will fit your description. The problem of course is that once we approach one of them then they will immediately gossip about it to the others. Hmm.”

I thought some more.

“How old would you estimate this dancer to have been?” I asked.

“Little more than twenty, I should say”, the nobleman said. “If that. Why do you ask?”

“I am thinking a less direct approach might yield better results”, I smiled. “With possibly just the hint of a threat!”

֍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> † A Welsh form of the name 'Mercury'.  
> ‡ The now rarely used name for the county of Breconshire.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson was most annoyed when I said I could not have him with me when I made my next call.

“I would like to”, I said, “but I can hardly say that national security is at stake and have you writing down everything for possible future publication, can I?”

He pouted again. He really had to stop doing that as it was so.... him.

“You will tell me about it afterwards?” he asked.

“Of course”, I said firmly, “although I suspect that this case may not be written up for some time, if ever. It all depends on what the dancer had beneath their nightshirt.”

He stared at me in confusion.

֍

My friend Miss Charlotta Bradbury was I knew involved in a most important matter for the government and, although I was sure that she would have made time for me I did not wish to put her to any trouble. I instead went to Mr. Craig Trent whose agency was involved with the hiring of temporary servants. As part of his job he also knew a lot about the people who employed his services, in many cases rather more than they would have wished. I had assisted him in a couple of very minor matters in recent years so he was fortunately inclined to be of assistance to me. This was fortunate as he came close to Henriksen's superior Inspector MacDonald over a general dislike of humanity (which considering the way that many of his employees were treated was I supposed understandable) and would unfortunately not have welcomed Watson's presence. I missed having my friend with me.

“Lady Horatia Tempest”, he said with a visible shudder. “I made an extra donation in Church for the Good Lord's allowing that I be absent when she called on my services last. And as for her daughters.... _indeed!”_

I smiled at that.

“I would like to know if you provided any staff for her recent ball”, I said. “And on a related note, what you know about her current servants.”

“I had to pay extra to persuade three of my people to attend that event”, he said. “Word of how terrible they are has as you might expect gotten around the serving class, few of whom are _that_ desperate for money. Her current staff I do not know as much of as I should; unfortunately she and her daughters are so terrible that the turnover is much higher than is usual, even in a city like London. Lord Tempest is, as I am sure you are aware, on a trading mission to St. Petersburg just now.”

He looked at me meaningfully. He knew as well as I did that Lord Tempest was spying for our Nation and possibly even that he was shortly set to move onto Russian Poland, Cracow to be exact. Luke had told me that in return for my asking Balin and Balan to reserve a triple session for him; he really was a glutton for punishment.

“I have been asked by a client to locate a particular servant”, I said. “He saw them at the ball and was entranced by their dancing, but sadly lost sight of them soon after. The person I am looking for would be up to about twenty-five years of age, of slender build and with blond hair. They are, so my client claims, quite attractive.”

Mr. Trent quirked an eyebrow at me. He would not have attained his current eminence had he not noticed the obvious about my description. He stood and crossed to a huge filing-cabinet and looked through it before extracting a large brown file, from which he took two sheets of paper.

“It is unlikely to be any of the staff that I sent them”, he said. “The youngest of those was Mary who is thirty although she claims to be twenty-three, and she is of rather solid build to put it politely. Peter would match the build but he is fifty and I think the only time that he would ever dance would be to mortify his offspring at their weddings. And it cannot be Jane who, although she does not look her thirty-one years, moves with all the elegance of a constipated elephant, so it must be someone who has no choice but to put up with that dreadful family until they can find something better.”

He ran a long finger down a list of names.

“There is one that stands out”, he said at last, “although it may not be quite what your client is looking for. There is an Alexis Cinderford working in the kitchens, some twenty-four years of age. I have very little information on them although from the name I might conjecture that Lord Tempest's Russian connections may be involved as we both know his first wife was Russian. She came over from St. Petersburg and brought several servants with her, so they may be one of them.”

That was most useful as it gave me another avenue of attack that, perhaps foolishly, I had overlooked. I thanked Mr. Trent and promised a generous donation to a local charity in Golders Green that I knew he supported.

֍

The Russian connection meant that I might also call on my criminal friend Mr. Gregor Khrushnic. He had recently had his third son and, by a stroke of good fortune, Watson had been there to assist his usual doctor and they had delivered a healthy boy called Boris. The young crime lord welcomed me and asked how I could help.

“It may be a shot in the dark”, I said, “but I was wondering if you knew anything about Lord Tempest and his family?”

“You mean the fellow spying for England?” Mr. Khrushnic said laconically (I was not in the least surprised that _he_ knew). “A fair-sized estate along the far side of the Welsh March and a house in London. He married someone from my old homeland but she died soon after, and he most stupidly remarried to Miss Horatia Guttersnipe, acquiring two stepdaughters whom I have more than once longed to push into the Thames. Although if they ever do con some poor gentleman into taking either of them up the aisle, I am sure their victim would do it for me soon after. Your friend the doctor calls them The Terrible Twins.”

I thought wryly that Watson really was awful at times, no matter how right he was on this one matter.

“He is annoyingly correct in that appellation”, I said, “although he does not need to be told that.”

“He is a very sound fellow”, Mr. Khrushnic said. “You did not bring him with you today?”

“I went to see someone who does not take well to outsiders”, I explained, “and decided to call here on my way back. Watson said that he called in on you the other day to check on Boris but all is well with him.”

“One of the greediest babies ever”, Mr. Khrushnic smiled. “I do not know where he puts it because his weight is normal yet he is forever demanding to be fed. I hope that Mr. Trent was well by the way. Let me think for a moment.”

He poured us both another drink before continuing.

“Lord Tempest's first wife was most definitely a love-match”, he said at last. “Her father was a xenophobe and bitterly against her marrying a non-Russian but she won him round. She died either in childbirth or soon after from complications, I am not sure which. That was about twenty years ago, maybe a little more. He then remained single for some time before he made the egregious error of marrying Lady Horatia. He must have done something very bad in a previous life to have deserved that!”

Watson's bad influence was spreading, I thought wryly. The crime lord smiled.

“The Terrible Twins were the result of the second Lady Tempest's first marriage to a Mr. Heinrich Bothwell”, he said. “A Prussian with a terrible bad temper; the shouting matches he had with her were legendary across society, so I was told. His death was a trifle suspicious in every sense as he had a heart-attack at dinner and collapsed face first into the trifle. A servant was suspected and fled before they could be questioned; they were later found floating in the Firth of Forth having been shot. And strangled. And stabbed; they do things thoroughly North of the Border it seems. There was speculation as there so often is in these cases that he had been employed by Lady Horatia and had then been dispatched himself before he could tell on her – she was at her hunting-lodge nearby when it happened - but nothing could be proven and she duly inherited her late husband's wealth. His brother Gerhart over in Brandenburg contested the will but lost.”

“What happened to the first wife's child?” I asked. 

He hesitated before answering. 

“He lived until about ten before he died of consumption”, he said. “But you might wish to ask a certain Miss Sellers about that. And once you have sorted out the problem of her actions, you will likely need my services once more.”

I sighed. I had an uneasy feeling that Lord Mercher was not going to like what I would eventually be forced to tell him.

֍

I returned to Baker Street and told Watson of my findings so far. He swiftly saw my point about my client's likely reaction.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I have invited Miss Sellers to call on us here”, I said, “because I think that your presence will make it clear to her just how serious I am over this. She will know that you document my cases and will see that her own position may well be in some danger if she does not co-operate. I am fairly sure as to what has happened and Mr. Khrushnic has even said he can extract our quarry when necessary but I would like to be one hundred per cent certain, especially given what may result if I am wrong.”

“You are never wrong!” he said loyally.

I thought of my recent abject mis-handling of his friend Doctor Nonus Hugh and again silently thanked the Good Lord for allowing Watson to continue placing me on a pedestal far higher than I deserved.

֍


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Hilda Sellers was a thin elderly lady in her early sixties, wearing a severe mauve dress and very much giving the air of starchy efficiency. She would, I thought, have made a good poker player and a notable opponent should she have become a criminal. Especially as she had taken the first step along the criminal path already even if it had been some years back.

“Let us not beat around the bush”, I said firmly. “I am fully well aware of what you did when you accepted that forged death certificate for the young Master Alexis Tempest and I have evidence of the large sum deposited in your bank account at the time. I also know who made that deposit.”

She shuddered slightly but held her poise.

“What do you want, sir?” she said sharply. “You are not threatening me, I hope?”

“You committed a crime”, I said flatly, “and someone suffered greatly as a result. I am going to remedy that. Your own actions were dishonest and immoral but you will one day answer for them to a higher court than any I can expose you to, and I do not doubt that the majority of people in your position at the time would on having been offered such a huge sum of money have swallowed their principles and taken it. I merely require one thing from you; confirmation of the name of the person who paid you.”

“If you have their details”, she said frostily, “then why do you need me?”

I pointed to the sheets of paper on the writing-table.

“When this scandal breaks in the newspapers”, I said, “as it will more likely sooner than later, the police are quite naturally going to start taking an interest in _your_ role in proceedings. You were dishonest but I doubt that you fully understood just what was intended from your accepting that fake certificate, and by the time you had realized what was afoot it was too late to back out. So before you leave here today you have a choice. If you sign this confession of your actions back then, I will wait three days before seeing the person which meeting will explode the whole affair across the newspapers. If however you decline then I will send a telegram immediately and the police will be at your door before the day is out. I consider that I am being unwontedly lenient in this matter but as I said your role was one undertaken at least partly through deceit, so you shall have this chance.”

She glared at me but did not hesitate, standing and crossing to sign the papers. Then she was gone.

“Would you countersign as a witness please, Watson?” I asked.

“What was all that about?” he asked, doing as I had asked.

“Lord Tempest's first child, Alexis, did not die at the age of ten”, I explained. “When his father made his fateful second marriage and then had to go to Russia, Lady Tempest saw her chance. She bribed Miss Sellers into accepting a forged death certificate – someone who had been at the Registry Office as long as she had would have spotted a forgery so she had to be bought off – and told her husband the child had died. They were instead given a new identity and then forced into a life of servitude.”

“And you let Miss Sellers go?” he asked dubiously.

“Without her confession we only have the bank records, and I may have neglected to mention to her that the funds were actually transferred from a joint account”, I said. “Poor Lord Tempest himself would therefore have been implicated when the scandal broke which would be most unfair on him; things will be bad enough as it is. Fortunately as I said Mr. Khrushnic has said he will be able to extract Alexis from the house, so we will do that in three days' time like we promised Miss Sellers and only then have Lord Mercher over.”

֍

The following day I read in the _”Times”_ that one of the secretaries at the Registry Office had sold her house and decamped to Germany for no apparent reason. Just as well; she had been watched from the moment she had left Baker Street.

֍

Two days later we had Lord Mercher over. Mr. Khrushnic had come through and I had Alexis in my room, ready to meet the my client. It was going to be... interesting.

The nobleman arrived early much as I had expected and the three of us sat down.

“This has been a most interesting case”, I said. “I have indeed found the person you were looking for, my lord and I have them here today. Their name is Alexis.”

Lord Mercher's eyes lit up.

“Where is she?” he demanded rising to his feet.

I crossed to my room and opened the door, then stood back to allow the person the other side of it to come through. A slender young blond fellow emerged, looking somewhere between nervous and terrified. Lord Brecknock baulked.

“But you are a boy!” he said. 

“Thank you, sir”, the young man said dryly. “In twenty-odd summers I may not have noticed that!”

The nobleman blushed but stepped right up to the young fellow. He tilted his head up to look at him, then shook his own head.

“It _is_ you!” he said at last. “I saw you dancing at the ball and you looked almost ethereal. And so damn beautiful.”

“Alexis is the son of Lord Tempest from his first marriage”, I explained, “and therefore rightful heir to the estate. His stepmother faked his death while his father was away so her adopted daughters might inherit and reduced the boy to living among the cinders, hence the name of Master Cinderford. He was only young at the time and doubtless threats were used to prevent him from talking.”

The young man nodded.

“I am sorry that I am not what you were expecting, my lord”, he said quietly. “I am a disappointment to you.”

“Who says I am disappointed?” Lord Mercher said firmly. “You are beautiful whatever you are and Mr. Holmes found you for me. Come here!”

With that he pulled the startled young man into a fierce hug. Alexis froze for a moment, then seemed to melt into his arms.

That was most definitely an 'aww' from Watson, whatever he later said.

֍

_Postscriptum: Lord Mercher's involvement in matters sped the normally slow processes of the law and young Mr. Alexis Tempest was restored to his rightful position as heir to his father, who with Luke's help returned sooner than expected to something of a surprise. One of Mr. Tempest's first actions was to divorce his wife, who along with her daughters had to serve a considerable time in gaol for their vile actions. All three were released at the same time and I later heard from Mr. Trent that they had been reduced to approaching him for work, an offer which he had decided that he_ could _refuse._

֍


End file.
